Michael had never been so glad to see the inside of a police car.
He was handcuffed beside Tyler, and they were alone in the vehicle, but Hannah’s father was just outside, speaking to the officer who was going to be driving them to the police station. The cul-de-sac was again lined with fire trucks and ambulances, but the terrified urgency from Thursday night was conspicuously absent. The radio in the front seat kept crackling with orders and updates, but Michael didn’t understand most of the codes, and he didn’t learn anything more than he already knew: his house was empty, yet on fire. A brush fire was burning in the woods.
He’d searched the faces of the firefighters he’d seen milling about, but he hadn’t seen Hannah. At least he didn’t have to be worried about her getting involved here.
Tyler shifted beside him. “I’ve never been arrested before,” he said. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or not.”
Michael stared out the window at the woods behind his house. “I prefer it to being dead.”
When Marshal Faulkner had put the gun against his head, Michael had worried that the Guide would burst out of the woods and kill them all—Hannah’s father included. But it was as if Jack Faulkner’s appearance had broken some sort of spell. Once he’d appeared to take them into custody, Michael hadn’t sensed their pursuer at all.
He had no idea what that meant—but he wondered if he should be giving Hannah’s father a bit more regard. Hadn’t the man been at every crime scene?
Yeah, because he’s the fire marshal, you idiot.
“Did you see anyone?” said Tyler.
“No.” Michael kept his eyes on the woods. “I didn’t.”
And that bothered him, too. Everything had happened so fast that Michael was still trying to piece it together. Had a Guide affected the air, making it thin and difficult to breathe—or had Michael been panicked, leaving adrenaline to do the same thing? Tyler had started the fire on the forest floor, right? Had the Guide made trees fall? Or had Michael done that?
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. It hit him like a live wire. Michael jumped and swore.
“What?” said Tyler.
“I got another text.”
Tyler’s voice dropped, though they were alone in the car. “From the guy in the woods?”
“My hands are cuffed behind my back, Tyler. It could be from anyone.”
But it wasn’t. He knew. This was bait. A trap. A taunt.
He looked out the window at Jack Faulkner and wondered if he should tell him. The earlier text messages weren’t a secret—was there any reason to keep these hidden? He’d probably lose this phone too, but hell, he’d lose it anyway when he got to the police station and they booked him.
Arrested. Michael swallowed. He kept thinking of his brothers, waiting for him to go in front of a judge so he could get them out of that group home. An arrest record would definitely throw a wrench in those plans.
Especially if his new lodging was a jail cell.
His phone vibrated again. Michael stared at the woods. Sweat collected between his shoulder blades despite the arctic chill in the air.
“It’s gotta be him,” Michael said. “He’s fucking with me.”
“Can you break the cuffs?” Tyler said. “Steel comes from the earth, right?”
“I can try.” Michael flexed his wrists against the restraints. The edge bit into his skin, but he used a little power, feeling it out. He could barely get a read on the cuffs. “The more processed something is, the harder it is to manipulate.” He paused and looked at Tyler. “If I break out of here, there’s no coming back from that.”
He’d be a criminal—and he’d have no chance of getting his brothers back.
Tyler looked back at him. “Do you think we’re safe here?”
“I have no idea.”
Tyler glanced at the woods. “What about everyone else?”
The radio in the front seat crackled to life again. A man’s voice, talking about the brush fire, giving orders to survey the scene.
Then a woman’s voice responding, agreeing to check the woods.
Michael froze. “That’s Hannah.”
“Your girlfriend?”
Michael didn’t even respond to him. He threw power into the cuffs, and though they flexed from the tension, they didn’t break. He kicked the door, trying to get the fire marshal’s attention.
Marshal Faulkner looked over, but didn’t stop his conversation with the police officer.
Michael kicked the door again, then slammed his shoulder into the window. “Stop her!” he called. “You have to stop her from going into the woods!”
The man looked aggrieved. He opened the door. “What was that?”
“Hannah,” said Michael. “She’s going in the woods. You need to stop her.”
Jack’s expression tightened, but he didn’t move. “Why?”
Michael gave another pull on the handcuffs. The steel gave a little, bending under the pressure. “Whoever started these fires is hiding in the woods. Stop her.”